In my years of mortal existence, nearly half of which have been during this "Inter Net Age," I have come to the conclusion that there is one and only one guaranteed method of attracting visitors to ones web page(what in the local parlance are called "hits" or "paddywhacks"), and that is by way of Smut. Not the discolored fungus that grows upon forgotten corn in the winter and was enjoyed as a delicacy amongst the Aztecs, but the sort of generally disreputable tomfoolery involving all manner of engorged orifices and phalli juxtaposed in manners intended to distract the plebian in his navigations. I would fain prey upon this weakness of men in the interest of obtaining a wider audience who I may then educate in such a way as to assist them in someday abstaining from the urges generated by the primal cerebellum. Such forthcoming treatises include subjects as varied as gravures and foxing, generating logarithmic spirals with pen and paper, the subtle dissonances of Charles Ives lesser known compositions for piano duets, and preparing the well balanced and soothing Rye Whiskey Manhattan. Bide thy time and cast not your accusations of "Foul Pornographer" upon me, for verily I shall not resort to the crude anatomical photography as drearily common place on this Inter Net as the cellophane bags of chemically enhanced potato leavings are upon the dry goods shelves of your local green grocer. No, I pray that if this web site is to be utilized in the interest of Exhilarations of a physical nature, then let it generate only the most refined and genteel of tumescences. So let us now turn to that noted Man of Letters and Pervert, D. H. Lawrence for some minor titillations.
"She dropped her blanket and kneeled on the clay hearth, holding her head to the fire, and shaking her hair to dry it. He watched the beautiful curving drop of her haunches. That fascinated him today. How it slowed with a rich downslope to the heavy roundness of her buttocks! And in between, folded in the secret warmth, the secret entrances!
He stroked her tail with his hand, long and subtly taking in the curves and the globe-fulness...he exquisitely stroked the rounded tail, till it seemed as if a slippery sort of fire came from it into his hands. And his fingertips touched the two secret openings to her body, time after time, with a soft little brush of fire...With quiet fingers he threaded a few forget-me-not flowers in the fine brown fleece of the mount of Venus.
She looked down at the milky odd little flowers among the brown maiden-hair at the lower tip of her body.
'Doesn't it look pretty!' she said.
'Pretty as life,' he replied."
Glory be to God, what an excerpt! I respectfully Thank you for perusing this post, and invite you to share this small ray of enlightenment amongst your co horts at whatever bullitin board server you prefer to patronize in your typical co-minglings of inane animal photography and heavily photo shopped portraits of pudenda.
